Mice
by MasterFinland
Summary: Little America learns that Alice really is afraid of something


England smiled at the laughing boy in front of her.

The breeze was nice in the 85 degree weather, and blew her hair in an almost movie-like manner. The sun shone down through the tree above her, making her look like an angel. Her corset and skirts were loosened comfortably so she could sit on the soft, shaded ground, leaning against the strong bark of the oak behind her. The grass and tickles her toes, dirtying her bare feet with dirt.

The small blond child then called her over happily, waving his free hand in the air and jumping around. She smiled and stood up, joints popping, walking over to the ecstatic child, a rare but genuine smile on her face.

"What is it, America?" She questioned softly, crouching down.

"Miss Britain! Look what I found, Miss Britain!" The boy shoved the object in her face, a grin lighting up his entire pudgy face. Alice took one look, her eyes widening, and automatically wished she hadn't. It was a mouse. A _rat_.

She fought the urge to scream.

"A-Alfred, dear, p-please put that d-down," she squeaked.

"Why?"

Alfred blinked at her in confusion. He brought the tiny brown mouse, shaking, close to his mud-splattered face and began examining it, his brow wrinkled in confusion, face set in a pout. Alice's eyes widened to a much larger size.

She was going to vomit.

And before she realized what she was doing, she had snatched the trembling fieldmouse from the young American's hands and dropped it in the bushes.

Then she froze, staring at her pale hands, which were now dusted in dirt and the baby animal's, possibly diseased, fur.

Terror rose, causing her to shuddered, retracting her hands to hold them at her chest.

She had touched it. She had _touched_ the rat. A scream rose in her throat. It was a panic filled scream that caused the child in front of her to jump in the air before landing on his rump, the Brit hyperventilating next to him.

He stared at her for a few moments, his head cocked to the side, brow once again crinkled, before his small pink mouth formed an 'o' in understanding.

Alice was afraid of mice.

He crawled over to his caretaker, who was now sitting with her head in her knees as she rocked herself back and forth slowly. Her blue skirts were now stained with grass and her dark purple full chested corset was hanging just a little too low. Alfred tapped her arm, and she looked up at him with a tearstained face. The eight-year-old smiled at her softly before speaking.

"I'm sorry, Miss Alice," he mumbled, looking at the grass guiltily, a slight flush of embarrassment on his fat cheeks. Alice's eyes filled with hot tears again, this time out of guilt for scaring her young charge. She grabbed the boy and pulled him to her chest, burying her face in his wheat-colored hair. She sobbed great heaving sobs, squeezing the boy like he was a lifeline. The blush rose to his ears as he was pressed against her greatly exposed bust.

Alice's frame shook as she let her fear and disgust of the situation leave her in large, billowing sobs and miniscule sniffles and hiccups. She scrubbed her eyes, still curled around the boy, rocking him.

"Alice, mon cheri, what's wrong?" The young woman looked up at the Frenchman blearily, sniffling. Her bottom lip quivered, and a new batch of sight-blurring tears sprung to her eyes. She flung herself into him, Francis barely able to catch her heavily sobbing frame. He slid down onto the soft, extremely green grass, and held her close to him. Alice's face was buried in his stomach, her body shaking and limp in his hold. He gently ran his hands through her hair, softly shushing her.

As she blubbered on to the Frenchmen, Alfred continued to stare at the ground as if he'd committed the most heinous crime. He'd made Alice cry, he realized. _Alice_. The same Alice who never cried or showed pain of any kind.

At least not in front of him.

But that wasn't something he needed to know.

Alfred sniffled, his large, sky blue eyes beginning to spill tears. He began to hiccup softly. He brought his tiny fat hands up to his face in a useless attempt to stop the tears that kept falling without his permission. Francis looked over to him and motioned him over, a soft, gentle smile on his face. He crawled over to his caretaker and her lover.

"Miss Alice? I-I'm sorry…. I didn't know… I just.. I-"

He was pulled into a comforting embrace, small, gentle hands playing with his hair.

"It's okay, sweetheart. You didn't know. Stop crying, Alfred- No, shh, it's okay." Alfred was sobbing into her dress before she had even finished talking.

Alice was sniffling softly as she held him. She shifted slightly so her back pressed against France's chest, who wrapped his arms around her waist and placing his chin on her shoulder. She leaned back, rubbing her crying brother's back and running her fingers through his hair to calm him down. She kissed the boy's forehead, moving around his face, gaining speed after every one. Alfred giggled as she tickled his throat, ears, cheeks, and nose.

Alice laughed, squishing the boy closer to her person. Alfred grinned up at her through his squished-up, tearstained face.

"I love you, Alice!" Alice laughed and kissed the boys face happily.

"I love you too, darling."

Alice's long hair tickled Alfred's face near as bad as her kisses did, driving him into a fit of uncontrollable giggles and snorts. Alice and Francis's laughs joined his own a few seconds later, as they both began to tickle the child under his arms and around his stomach and neck.

The next few minutes were spent like that until none of them could breathe and little Alfred had almost peed himself twice. Francis smiled down at his strange little family.

"How about we go inside and have some lunch, oui? Matthew already had his, and is down for a nap."

"Oui!" The little American giggled happily.

"Lead the way then, Frog," Alice smirked. The three of them managed to make it to the house without any hassle, and Francis with the meal, said meal being Francis's own version of fish-n'-chips.

Within ten minutes the meal was placed in front of the two starving English-speaking nations.

"It looks really good, Francey-pants!" The younger of the two grinned at the Frenchmen, filling his mouth again.

"The stuff I make is much better." Alice grumbled snottily. There was tenderness behind her words, however, letting Francis know that she appreciated the food. Francis laughed at the both of them and sat at his own place, beginning to eat.


End file.
